My husband is a total sweetheart. I wouldn’t trade him for all the red skittles in the world. I could makes lists of all the things I love about him. In fact, I actually have. On rare occasions I bust out this list to remind myself why I can’t be mad at him. Even though he claims not to dream. And when he is not dreaming he does not talk in his sleep. He would never dream about lighting stuff on fire and be very loud and argumentative about it. When he is not sleep talking he does not shove all the pillows off the bed, including the ones I’m using. When I am not trying to stop him from not stealing the last pillow it may or may not turn into a full sleep fight. I’m even confusing myself now…..what was I talking about???

Oh yeah! So, the only time my hubby dreams is when he is super stressed out. I would cringe anytime I heard the word “loader” because this was the crappiest piece of crap in the whole crap heap at the Coalmine he worked at. Other crews would try to “fix” it and end up screwing it up worse that a wife with a new remote. They would have been better off following Ikea instructions then the manual they were supposedly trained in. He would spend days trying to undo whatever the last troglodyte had done so he could finally diagnose the original issue.

If you know anything about this man you would know that he would rather read an instruction manual than a novel. He is always searching for more knowledge. He is a perfectionist. Few things drive him crazier than a job half done. He will drive himself nuts if he can’t find a solution. He will drive himself all the way to nightmares.

That night we are about to discuss happened to be one of his “loader” nights. He had made it home late to begin with. (First sign right here) He grumbled all through dinner. (Strike 2, Dude is the mostest un-picky eater in existence) He apologized for being a grump, mumbled something about the “L” word, and excused himself to bed early. I knew I was in for a long night.

Between random cuss words and aggressive blanket stealing I was able to snag a few 30-45 minute power naps. I had managed to be deep in sleep when I felt an elbow connect dead on with my nose. It was my turn to burst out in curse words! I sat up and cradled my poor nose, making sure it wasn’t broken. Apparently this was a horrible distraction for the sleeping bear next to me because he let out a deep growl and snapped

“What’s your problem?!”

“Are you kidding me? You just hit me in the face!”

Another growl “Get over it!”

Oh heeeeeeeelllll no………. I cannot remember ever being in more shock. My hands burned to nail HIM in the face! My arms tensed holding back the overwhelming urge to throttle him right back. The electric current of anger rolled through my body, mixing with the utter confusion of how this normally kind man could be so mean, then sprinkled with a little bit of understanding and sympathy because it was so out of character for him. I started slowly counting backwards from 1 zillion to try to calm my redheaded arse down. I was going to win this battle of wills. And I did.

The next morning he left for work as he normally would. I asked him a few times throughout the day how he was feeling since he didn’t seem to sleep well last night. He was tired and his back was a little sore. (No duh! Really?!) I waited until he was off work and at a family BBQ to start cracking the Chris Brown jokes. I had already told his family about it so they were joining in the fun. The first question his mom had asked was if I had hit him back. (I got quite a few pats on the back for handling it as well as I did) The poor confused man finally had to ask what was going on. I joyfully told him about the night before. He just about fell out of his chair. If he hadn’t been a Brandenburg I’m sure he would’ve spit out his beer. He instantly wanted to know why I hadn’t hit him back! (Oh trust me buddy, I was close) I told him it was because I loved him.

We have made it a point to never go to sleep angry. We never make the other person sleep on the couch when upset. But we both know the word “loader” means someone is escaping the bed to go spend the night in safety 🙂

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Get a puppy they said…it will be fun they said….. and by “they” I really mean “me”. I love my puppies. I love their squishy faces. I love their pudgy bodies. I love their big bully-doggy smiles. I love them! I love them! I love them! And that is where you will find me. Sitting in the corner, slowly rocking back and forth, rubbing my ears, chanting “I love my puppies. I love my puppies. I love my puppies……”

The bat-pigs normally cuddle with me in bed at night. Most nights the cuddling looks more like giant furry leeches are infesting my side of the bed. They love me, A LOT, as well. Codependent doesn’t even begin to describe it. They are right up there with “Where The Wild Things Are” we will eat you up we love you so! Last night was not so much.

The little buttfaces decided that lights out meant they should randomly bark at every mosquito fart in the back yard. No late night bark is complete without bounding off the bed and scampering across the hardwood floor with little puppy nails clicking that sound very much like spiders wearing tap shoes. *Shutter* That image totally makes it easy to sleep. Then they would come trotting happily back into the room chewing on something of mine. Some days I really wish they would chew up other peoples crap. I would have to wrestle whatever it was (makeup brush, hairbrush, underwear, marker, flipflop) out of bulldog vise grips and put their pouting butts back on the bed. They would aggressively snuggle for forgiveness but only for a few minutes before starting the process over again. They had done this for the 87th time when I finally had enough. Mean old mom got up and slammed the bedroom door shut. These poor doggies had never been forced to sleep outside of the room before so I can only blame myself for what happened.

When I got up the next morning I knew something was up. Travis had gotten out of bed and I heard him grumble a little bit. Grrreaaat. They must have gotten into something. (since I may or may not have procured both pets without consulting my husband first, I try not to ask him to clean up after them) I stepped out into the hallway and my pansy-butt-Biggie-Piggy flattened himself to the floor and gave me HUGE eyes. Well, whatever it was, must have been Allee Sioux because he would have ran from me if he had done something wrong. He stayed flattened to the floor as he watched me go down the stairs. Smart dog.

I can’t begin to describe the noise that came out of me at that moment. (Pterodactyl choking on a whoopy cushion might be close) I definitely can’t repeat it. My entire living room was dookie. We had spent 7 hours the weekend before on hands and knees scrubbing the cheap wax the previous owners had put down off of that hardwood floor. Where there should have been shining hardwood there was used cat litter as far as the eye could see. I turned to look back up the stairs at both my dogs. Biggie-Piggie was trying his hardest to sink into the carpet while at the same time pushing himself away from the happiest little ball of handicappable Frenchie this side of the Pecos. She was wiggling with excitement. “proud” doesn’t come close to the joy that little girl had. She smiled from ear to ear, showing off the chucks of clay wedged in all of her teeth. She licked her lips and pranced around, as if to say “Look what I found! It crunches when I lick now!” Another strange sound escaped me.

When Travis heard this one he playfully commented from the kitchen “did someone forget to close the window last night?” This snapped me back into reality. I rushed to grab cleaning supplies. There would be a toddler at my house any minute and this was not the kind of job I wanted 4-year-old “help” with. He came around the corner and his face dropped. Apparently he had thought the whitish piles he had seen in the dark living room were snow from an unclosed window. Normally I hate snow but I would have done anything to trade at that moment.

Miss Allee Sioux still can’t understand why we weren’t happy. She totally made us breakfast and it was her favorite. She loves kitty candy, and she gave us an entire living room full of it! It’s a damn good thing that pup is disabled or she would be in serious trouble. *insert grumpy face* It’s not like we are hosting 2 birthday parties, a bridal shower, high school graduation, senior sendoff and prom party in the next few weeks. That would TOTALLY have made this a stressful moment…..

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I got to work today and apparently my cup over flow-eth with “No’s” Every question a coworker asked me, I snapped back “NO!”

Did you make coffee this morning …….NO!

Can someone wash the lobby plants today …..NO!

Can I ask you a question…..NO!

Not even a quick question……NO!!

I just want to make faxing releases easier …..NO!!!

Can you help me schedule this patient …..NO!

I was starting to laugh at myself because my instant reaction to EVERYTHING was negative. Normally I’m a much more optimistic person so I was trying to figure out where the heck this was coming from …..Coming from? …….Coming? ………HOLY CRUD BUNNIES I KNOW WHERE THE NO’S STARTED!!!!!

I was full giggling when I realized why I was acting like this. This was left over from last night! I had to share this one with the office.

We had a stressful afternoon the day before. Every single patient turned into something crazy or a depression check. By the time I left work I had a killer headache. This wasn’t just a line, I really did have a headache. When I got home I had to help my husband find his social security card that got misplaced when we moved this summer. I gave up after 2 hours and hopped in the shower. When I got out he was being super sweet, even was cool with me playing my book club book on speaker so I could dry my massive hair. (my hair is ridiculous) He snuggled up to me in the bed and started softly rubbing my back as he was falling asleep.

That’s when the “butt-rubbing” started. Oh haeeeellll no! Not tonight mister! I’m stupid tired, I have a massive headache, I’m stressed to the max. Normally I would just say wait until I’m asleep and move me to a neutral position. I don’t want to wake up with a crick in my neck. This had the girls laughing as well. They were way more worried about airway and breathing than I was. Meh, it’s similar to getting choked, you get that euphoria towards the end. Plus, He’s an EMT so I should be fine. I just don’t want to be miserable the next day. I’m a firm believer that if I go to sleep without sweat pants on then the lady-garden is open for business. You can’t leave the garden gate open and expect the bunnies to stay out. Have a good time!

But not this night. This night was going to be filled with restful sleep. I wanted there to be zero chance of a 2am Edgar Allen Poe reading “suddenly there was a rapping, of someone so gentle tapping, tapping at my chamber door…” QUOTE THE WIFEY NEVERMORE!!!!! Not only did I remove his hand from my butt. I grabbed a huge fluffy pillow and wedged it between my tush and his pelvis. Behold! The Great Wall of Vachina! Take that you crow! That’s right, I not only shot him down, I went full Trump!! I built a huge wall (with the pillows he bought) and was prepared to defend it. My NO game was solid. So solid it was still in place at work the next morning.

A few of my statements did generate some questions with the coworkers. Like, do I put on enormous granny panties and then triple layer them? We were rolling laughing now picturing me standing like a bouncer with my arms crossed and 7 pairs of underwear on, and a diaper. Let’s add a couple strips of duct tape for good measure! Granny panties, a diaper, a duct tape chastity belt, and a huge wall; if that doesn’t keep him out nothing will! Suddenly we all heard the Mission Impossible theme start playing (I love having coworkers as crazy as I am) it was followed up by Raiders of the Lost Ark, only instead of sand it was the sound of tape being pulled apart. Yeeeeeaaaah, my husband would totally take that much effort as a challenge instead of a show stopper. We could all see me waking up the next morning with the duct tape and force field in place…. But with a different color of tape. And probably a cute little thank you note, because he is sweet like that.

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I know, I suck, I totally disappeared for a while there. My bad. The last few month have kicked my butt. All this time I have been trying to deal with, well, everything, and discovered I have not been in fact “dealing” with anything. Seeing a counselor every other month was definitely not cutting it so I got myself scheduled with the gal my brother had been seeing before he died. Her opinion on the whole situation was very insightful. It was rather nice to have someone that could see both sides of everything that had gone on.

To clarify, by insightful I mean f-ing scary. The wind of relief that blew the one door shut managed to smash open another door I worked 3 decades to keep locked, chained, nailed, and bolted shut. I was suddenly remembering things that my psyche had put a shit-load of effort into NOT remembering. To fix this she suggested EMDR Therapy.

I had never heard of it but after some quick research I was cool with trying it. It was discovered by a chic hiking and thinking about her problems. She manage to put together that the shift in eye movement while scanning the trail engaged multiple parts of her brain and she was able to process the thoughts on more than just an emotional level. By the end of her hike she was in a much better place mentally. This sounded perfect to me since I love hiking and have noticed the same effect after long trips. I just assumed it was a combination of being in nature, ditching technology and the feeling of accomplishment from climbing a mountain. Little did I know my “trail therapy” was “real therapy”. I love when I get the extra credit on an assignment before even starting it.

It was not nearly as cool as I was hoping. I didn’t even get to bring my pack. Having someone calmly tell you to remember and describe traumatic shit that they base Lifetime movies after is not nearly as fun as backpacking through the wilderness. Bawling until you are a wet mess and your head wants to explode is not as sweet as feeding squirrels on a mountain top. Now let’s imagine the cleansing light of the universe pushing all the stress out your feet. Riiiiiiiiiiight………. How about I just tuck that cobra back in its basket in my tummy, my teddy bear was getting lonely. Why the hell did I volunteer to drag up painful stuff???? I’m seriously paying someone to make me feel this way??? No wonder I need counseling…..

Then we upped it to the next level. Time to sit in a dark room with little vibrators in my hands while talking about how there are hundreds of little flashes of pain and my brain flat refused to spend more than a few seconds on each. My body was tensing up on the left side, I felt like I was floating sideways. I was dizzy and nauseous and my throat was tight and I really had to pee. My bra was soaked since I couldn’t wipe my face while holding the vibrators. It would totally be my luck to electrocute myself during a therapy session. When it got too intense I floated out of the memory and my body felt like it suddenly stood up and shut down all thought. My eyes snapped open and I’m pretty sure you could see the glowing neon sign flashing “NOPE” with a very pleasant hum keeping in time. Big surprise right there, my brain being obstinate. Like I didn’t see that coming.

If anyone has ever told you hangovers in your 30’s suck, tell them to try EMDR. I needed a nap right away. My whole body felt like it had been beat with a metal pipe (yes, I do know what that feels like) My brain hurt. I would not describe it as a headache because it felt like somewhere deep inside my left lobe was twisting. I was told to keep a close eye for “abnormal crisis behavior” and to call if anything weird happened. When I asked what specifically to watch for I was told “I have no clue. It’s your brain. If you don’t know then how can I know?” Thanks. That is very reassuring.

It’s a good thing I have an amazing husband that is willing to sacrifice his own mental health (and biological need to fix everything) that was home to take care of me. He made sure I rested, took care of kids, cleaned the bathroom, brought me food, cleaned up the water my clumsy ass spilt on the laptop (with only a chuckle and no complaint), pet my hair, cuddled with me while listening to Lord of the Rings. He is so perfect. I hit the lottery finding this man. Let’s hope he can survive this crazy mental health journey with me.

Soooo here goes the next few month of Hiking Therapy! I’ll try to keep everyone updated as it goes. If I disappear again, make sure to harass me. The writing is very beneficial.

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I have decided, my next tattoo is going to be of nine black cats with red stamps through all but one of them. The series of bad luck lives on and once again I have hurt myself in a way that is slightly hilarious and horrible for my self-esteem. Let me break it down

It was a dark and stormy Tuesday night. My husband was on night shifts so I was alone in the ghost house with a zombie (11 year old girl with an iPhone totally counts) The skeletons were stacking pretty high in my bedroom closet so I decided it was time to move them up to the top shelf so I was no longer tripping over them. And by “skeletons” I really mean “pants” but if you know me, either is possible.

I was being very responsible and went to grab an actual step-stool instead of just stacking things and monkeying up like I normally would. I probably could have been slightly more responsible and not have grabbed the plastic one that the girls had cracked forever ago by jumping on it. Hind sight is 20/20. *insert awkward shrug* Meh.

I did not even manage to get one pair of jeans on that shelf. I put my right foot on it and shifted my weight to lift the other when I felt the “pop”. It’s funny how the world really does go into slow motion when you know something bad is about to happen but have no ability to stop it. I looked down right as I was placing my left foot on the edge of the stool. The same edge the “pop” had come from and now was letting out a sharp crack. I got to watch as that thing gave out and I crumpled down onto that plastic lettuce knife that materialized where the round corner had been.

I sat on the floor and that sweet little stool folded up like it was a kitten taking a nap. Just lying there like nothing happened, the smug thing appeared completely fine. It had done its job and was ready to be put away. My left leg on the other hand was telling a slightly different story. The really good cuts take a minute for your brain to recognize how bad they are. You tend to get a few seconds to analyze the gash before they fill with blood. I got enough time to look at my tendon; flex it, bend it, twist it a little. I thought “that’s so cool looking! Dang I’m lucky I didn’t hit an artery!” That was the Que. The thing started filling up with blood! I grabbed a clean black sock that was in my overnight bag on the floor of the closet. Using that, I held it shut as I hobbled to the master bathroom. I have never been more grateful for hardwood floors!!!!

At least I had paper towels and coban in there. I made the quickest pressure dressing ever and hopped to the laundry room to grab my emergency hiking kit. (Don’t ask me why it was in the laundry room, I have a squirrel brain but sometimes it comes in handy) Time to check if I’m still good at tying suture knots. I plopped down in my shower to find out the answer was “no”. Not sure if it was the years of not practicing, or the adrenaline making me shake, but the first 2 looked like a toddler tried making mommy a present. Yeeeeeaaaaaah, not hanging those ones on the fridge. Ewww, little globs of fat are popping out (definitely not putting those back in. I might have accidentally squeezed a few more out) Screw it! I’m going full Jack and Sally and just doing a continuous loop for the rest of it! Let’s throw a buttload of SteriStrips on there for good measure.

Sweet, all done and only took me half an hour and two dozen gagging moments. Anyone that has ever gotten to feel nylon pulled through an open wound knows why I was gagging. That is one of the most sickening feelings ever! Time to take some pictures and then go pick up the boy from rehearsals. Pat on the back for get through all of that without making my upstairs look like a murder scene or disturbing the mindless zombie that is prone to panic attacks.

Because I am female and have been lied to enough of my life I busted out a tape measure the next day at work. I now know, with 100% certainty, what 7 ½ inches looks like. I also know that is does hurt. A small part of me hopes it leaves a gnarly scar, then I can get ruler marks tattooed on it later on.

I did make sure my husband knew that this was completely his fault. The butthead was hoarding the step stool that had a high weight capacity. I don’t really think it matters that he weighs closer to 300 pounds than I do. OBVIOUSLY the stool that only hold 250 was not nearly enough for my butt. Talk about a self-esteem killer.

P.S. apparently we also need a new scale too, because this one lies…..

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I totally feel like a whiny little toddler right now. A toddler that hasn’t had a nap. A toddler that is pissed because I have a shadow. A toddler that does not understand what homework is or why it is so important to sit down and write. I don’t care that I enjoy writing, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that it is therapeutic for me, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that I’m awesome at it, I don’t wanna! I don’t even care that I have a million (And 9) fabulous stories that I really want to get down on paper, I don’t wanna!!!!!! I wanna curl up in my blankie, suck on a cuppy full of juice (okay wine) and NOT write.

Writers block sucks.

*slowly rocks beating head against desk* I have so many funny things floating through my head and cant. *thunk* Get. *thunk* Them. *thunk* Out. *thunk**thunk**thunk* Is it possible to serve your thoughts with an eviction notice? Can I add to the order that they must exit in an organized fashion? How do I even put into a paragraph the fact the District Attorney should really re-word his opening statement? (Who uses the phrase “I’m going to touch on a few things” or “let me know if I didn’t touch something” for a first degree sexual assault case?? Bad form dude) Or about teaching my amazingly sarcastic son to drive? (oh! Look! A kitty!)

Story telling comes natural to me (usually) but it’s like I can’t separate anything out of the big knot of yarn that is swirling in my skull. The more I tug at it the worse it gets. Of course when I lay down and try to sleep at night all the thoughts come swirling around me like the final fight scene in “Ghost”. I feel like that weird kid that always messes up the joke. I’m bursting at the seams with punch lines but can’t lay out the hook.

Maybe I need to be drinking more, or maybe cleaning less, or not so slammed at work that I can’t even think. If you need me, I will be throwing a full out temper tantrum to the beat of “Summertime Sadness” about the fact that August-Specific Depression is a real thing. And is apparently also responsible writers block.

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I am pretty much addicted to memories on Facebook. Any time I start to think I’m a boring old lady I get a reminder of how much fun I’ve had in my life. Hopefully my kids still love me someday when I’m telling their children all the wild things grandma used to do. One of my really good ones came up the other day and I got a nice chuckle as I had to explain it to my newest coworker.

My bosses husband manages a golf course so she is always having to do extra stuff after work involving the green. She was signed up to tee off with some gals at the other course in town. She was commenting that it had been a long day and she really wished she didn’t have to go (nothing against the group, we are just going through computer upgrade HELL right now and everyone is going home exhausted) I had to giggle and tell her

“Just sign up under my name, then they won’t let you golf since I’m banned for life”

“I should! Are you listed under your maiden name?”

“Yeah, just say ‘hi im rya. Im supposed to be meeting some people here’ and they will ask you to leave! Problem solved!

“I wish it would work but they have gotten all new management in the last few years so I don’t think they know you have been kicked out”

“Well that sucks”

This is where the explaining came into play. My coworker was given the condensed version but I feel it needs a deeper explanation. Many years ago I was hanging out with some friends at a charity golf event. Don’t ask me what charity it was because I have no clue and I don’t think they did either. It was a great excuse to day drink dressed like oompa loompas while hot rodding golf carts. The charity part just made it guilt free. We were not wasteful people so we didn’t let that opportunity slip by. At some point during our charity drinking the guys were licking mustard off some other dudes nipple and I busted my lip open trying to catch my straw. Good times!

Even in a heavily intoxicated state I still try to remember my manners and have zero tolerance for rude people. Sitting at the table we ended up at around midnight was a really nice and funny old man, but there was also his son that was getting meaner by the drink. This young punk was snapping his fingers and making snide comments to the waitress. This poor gal had had a long day and it was late enough that only her and the bartender were left for servers. It didn’t matter if she was helping other customers. It didn’t matter that there were people ahead of him. He was *shoutslastname* and this lazy B-word needs to learn who comes first!

That made my eye twitch….I tried to take a deep breath but right then the lady came to the table apologizing for taking so long. This arrogant prick interrupted the woman to inform her what a fat and lazy and stupid B-word she was to keep a *lastname* waiting. At this point I was coming out of my chair. My friend put a hand on my arm in an attempt to keep me calm. I sternly told the boy that he needed to watch his mouth and have respect for a lady.

“I’M A *LASTNAME* AND I’LL CALL THAT DUMB C@#& WHATEVER I WANT!”

I didn’t say anything else to him. Some people only learn one way. I calmly punched him full force straight in the face and sent him rolling backwards in his chair. This also sent the table flying from his legs hitting it. The punk came up swinging but at that point there were plenty of people standing to hold him back. I got told that since I was the only person to throw a swing they had to kick me out for fighting. They weren’t going to call the cops but I has banned from there for life. I was fine with that.

The kids dad made a show of escorting me to the door but the whole time he was telling me how happy he was that someone did that. His boy was a spoiled brat and needed a good ass whooping but his mama wouldn’t let him do it. I held in the giggle until I was out of the building and told him “glad I could help” as he held the limo door for me.

The next morning I woke up to over a dozen messages about it, my friends hand had a paper towel and duct tape pressure dressing on it (that looked vaguely like my work) and my right foot smelled like crab legs……. Aaaaah the joys of youth! *sigh*